


Five Lives of Crime

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe, Incest, M/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of AU sketches. Chapter ratings vary from G to R.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Picking Up Where the Law Leaves Off

When Peter decided, at the ripe age of twenty-eight, that it was time they retired, time they went straight and "left their criminal past behind" Nathan only said, "Is this another nurse thing?"

"No, it is not another nurse thing. And it wasn't a 'nurse thing', I saved lives. What have you ever accomplished, Nathan."

"I can steal a man's wallet, remove his credit card and then put it back in under eight seconds."

"That's - okay yeah, that's pretty impressive." He paused. "I can do it in six."

"No you can't. So we're going straight now?"

"Don't say that like it's a dirty word. I want to make it work this time. The last time didn't turn out so bad, did it."

Sure it didn't. A marriage that lasted two years, two kids that he never saw and a lifetime of alimony to pay. That, and he found out that being an insurance investigator was a far more morally dubious career choice than being a counterfeiter. In retrospect, he'd probably had a better time in prison.

+

It's starts with a girl, naturally. And Vegas. Because in Vegas, it's always about either money or a girl. They're walking out of their hotel, Nathan's arm around Peter's shoulders, and he's slightly buzzed and trying to get Peter to get off his cell, but Peter just shrugs helplessly, because it's Hiro, and he's calling from Japan, and when Hiro calls it's usually best just to let him ramble on rather than go through the effort of trying to hang up.

Sometimes Nathan thinks that secretly Hiro's English is perfect, and that he only pretends not to understand social cues to get what he wants. Peter would say that he's being overly cynical, and that Hiro is their friend, as close to family as it gets, not to mention just about the best thief they know, and what was a two hour phonecall between friends, after all.

But enough is enough, and he's about to grab the phone forcefully from Peter's hand when it happens. Two feet in front of them, close enough that Nathan can almost feel the force of her body weight as she whooshes down. Blood splatters, warm and wet, against his skin. "Huh," Nathan says.

"Fuck," Peter says. "No, not you, Hiro. I'll call you back."

Another thing that's constant in Vegas, Nathan finds, is death.

+

Afterwards, Nathan will say it's tragic, but none of their business. He'll say people kill themselves in Vegas all the time, and okay yes, not all of them happen to do it right in front of them, and not all of them happen to be pretty and blonde -

(The cops that interviewed them while Nathan was wiping blood off his face showed them a picture and asked, "Do you know this young woman?" "No." "Have you seen her before?" "No." "Her room was two floors above you. Are you sure?" "It's a big hotel. No. Can we go now, we have dinner reservations." "Sure, sure. Here's my card. Please feel free to call us if you think you might have any information. Thank you for your time.")

\- but they do, and it's tragic, and it's, most of all, none of their business.

"Look at her, Nathan. Why would someone like her kill herself."

"Don't know. Don't care. Dinner, Peter."

"How can you even think of eating at a time like this?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Peter's got this look in his eyes again. The one that Nathan hates. The one that says he has a new Cause, because there's injustice in the world, even if the injustice is probably only that the woman ruined that exquisite pair of Manolo Blahniks she was wearing.

"We need to get to the bottom of this."

"You have blood on your shirt."

"You're not listening to me."

"No, I am." He waves his hands around to show just exactly how much he's listeninhg. "Dead girl. Suicide. We need to do something."

"It's fate, Nathan, that she lost her life right in front of us. There are no such things as coincidences," Peter tells him, as Nathan mourns the dinner reservations that had been surprisingly difficult to come by.

"Sure there is, Peter. Just not where you live, that's all."

Peter frowns at that, but ignores him. Nathan expects nothing less.

+

So now they're in Vegas, enjoying their fucking retirement with the fucking money that they worked so hard to procure and they have no outstanding warrants (at least not the in the US, he probably doesn't want to go back to Moscow anytime soon and Peter mentioned once that pretty much any place in Ireland would always be a bad idea) and Peter decides that the most important thing he has to do right now is investigate the death of some strange girl who was rude enough to kill herself right in front of them.

"Not everything is about you, Nathan," Peter says spitefully, when Nathan tells him just that.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you. Just great, Pete."

Peter just smiles, and tosses a heavy file onto the table in front of him. "The jumper's name is Lydia Strazzulla. She worked for one of the biggest toy manufacturers in the world. CEO goes by the name of Samuel Sullivan. You can read what I've managed to assemble so far." He sits down next to Nathan and crosses his feet, spreads his arms along the couch. "It's okay, take your time. I'll wait."

When he's done with the, okay fine, rather impressive file that Peter's put together, the words _defective range of toys_ and _potentially lethal_ and _bury this deep_ jumping out at him most clearly, Nathan says, slowly and patiently, "Okay. But what exactly do you expect us to do about it? Please don't say that we're going to go on some sort of crazy, misguided mission to expose them. We're criminals, Peter, not vigilantes. Retired criminals at that. Retired criminals on vacation. A vacation which, I would like to point out, I have yet to enjoy at all, and mainly because of you."

"But Nathan," Peter says, and he sounds hopeful and, that tone that Nathan hates most of all, entirely and utterly sincere, "We have to. Think of the children."

Nathan puts his head in his hands.


	2. I Built Houses in my Mind

When Peter was six, he snuck into Nathan's room one night and whispered into his ear, "Nathan, I had a dream. I could fly." Nathan was half-asleep and couldn't care, not at that moment, about what Peter had been dreaming of.

He ruffled Peter's hair and murmured, "That's nice, Petey. Go back to bed," before turning around and throwing the covers over his head. Two days later, Peter jumped off the roof of their house, and it was only because he'd yelled for Nathan to come see that Nathan managed to catch him before he hit the ground too hard, and he only suffered bruises from where Nathan had gripped him too tight.

"Nathan," he said, eyes wide. "You caught me." That was the moment when Nathan knew: his brother was crazy.

+

Nathan was about a week away from moving out, had a sweet girl named Meredith who knew a guy who knew a guy who could get him a job somewhere in the city. Peter sat cross-legged at his feet as he packed, nothing much, just a few changes of clothes and a photograph that he frowned at and tucked into his back pocket. "Ma says you're leaving. When are you coming back?"

Years later, Nathan would remember exactly how Peter had looked that day, when Nathan lied, "Soon, Pete. Soon." Earnest, and solemn, and inexplicably sad. Nathan had picked him up and hugged him then, said fiercely, "I gotta go, but I'll be back for you. I promise."

It was one of the few promises that he'd ever kept.

+

Once, it was Peter's number on his cell but Ma's voice when he picked up: "Peter beat up his gym teacher today, I thought you might like to know. Almost put him in the hospital. He's been suspended from school indefinitely."

"Peter," Nathan said disapprovingly when Ma finally passed the phone over to him.

"Guy was a douche. You should have been there." He paused. "My knuckles are all red and cracked," and Nathan could only sigh.

"Just tell Ma I gave you a talking to, okay. And don't do it again. You know how she gets."

"Yeah, whatever man." He sounded dejected rather than anything else, and cut off the line before Nathan could respond.

When Nathan called back, a day later, Ma said wearily, "I'll handle it, Nathan." By that she meant she'd drink herself into a stupor as usual and hope that it would go away, as usual.

"Okay Ma," he said finally, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. "Okay."

He came to get Peter a couple of days later. Called him and said, "I'm coming. Wait for me." He didn't expect Peter to be packed and sitting on the porch stairs when he showed up. His knuckles were just beginning to heal but still looked faintly pink and raw. Nathan ignored them and wrapped one arm around Peter instead, pulling him in close to kiss his forehead. "We gotta teach you how to take care of yourself, right."

"I can take care of myself, Nathan."

"Not yet, you can't."

+

The fifth job they took went bad when some wanna-be superhero got off a lucky shot before Nathan could take him out. Peter got hit, and Nathan didn't see anything but red for a while, until everyone was down and he was dragging Peter out by the scruff of his neck. In the back of his mind, mostly, Ma was glaring at him and going: I will kill you myself if you let my favorite son die.

Not that she'd ever admit to him she had a favorite son, but he always knew. He didn't mind, Peter was his favorite too.

The getaway driver was starting to freak, muttering curses under his breath until Nathan pointed a gun at his face and snarled, "Shut the fuck up and keep driving." Peter's head cradled in his lap, Nathan couldn't tell whose blood was whose, but Peter stirred and moaned, and eventually they managed to get him patched up at the home of a doctor who'd had his license pulled for being high on coke while operating on a sixteen-year-old. Nathan knew this because he always did his research beforehand.

The man was unimpressed by Nathan's quiet threat to kill him if his brother died. "He'll be fine," he told him eventually, arm-deep in blood. "Bullet missed major arteries. He probably should be in the hospital, but. You can stop pointing the gun at me now. Please." Nathan lowered his arm briefly to press his lips to Peter's forehead, but he didn't put the weapon away.

They got a reputation after that. Nathan couldn't quite bring himself to care.

+

It's was Arthur's fault, Nathan decided, staring at his brother's naked, sleeping form. Of course, some would say that blaming Arthur for this was a cop-out, but then again, considering how most of the time everything did fall solely at his feet, blaming him for this too wasn't that much of a stretch.

Peter stirred and opened his eyes. "Hey," he said sleepily.

"Hey." Peter tugged on his arm, and Nathan scooted down to wrap himself around Peter's warm body. "We should probably get up," he said, but the friendly kiss he gave Peter quickly turned when Peter gripped the back of his head with his fingers, arched into him. "Okay, maybe later."

"Mmmhmm." Peter started stroking him through his pajama pants, but then he pulled back. "Why do you bother wearing these," he said. "You have to get up, go to the closet, drag them out and put them on. Why not just fall asleep naked."

"Okay first of all they were a gift. Second of all," he paused. "Ma always said that if the house caught on fire I wouldn't want to be seen running out without any clothes on?"

"Huh. Apparently Mom told you a lot of things she didn't tell me." He resumed sliding his hand under the pants, and Nathan gasped.

"That's because she liked you more. You were her perfect, sensitive little boy," Nathan said. He rolled, suddenly, and Peter's surprise allowed Nathan to turn him onto his back, slide down his chest. He relaxed though, when Nathan pressed his cheek to the inside of his thigh.

"I remember Dad -"

"What." Nathan raised his head, suddenly tense, but Peter's eyes were closed and his fingers were gripped tight onto the headboard. He just stared for a while, until Peter sighed and jerked his hips impatiently, and Nathan decided they would have That Conversation some other day.

+

Peter enjoyed hitting things, but he always refused to kill and, more often than not, didn't even want to pick up a weapon. "Sometimes guns are just necessary, Pete. You might consider another line of work if you feel differently." Peter just glared at him mutely, and pushed the gun that Nathan offered him away.

"Fine," Nathan said. "I guess that's another thing I'm to be responsible for. Why don't you just go for a walk or something, leave me to do my job."

"You know what, maybe I will," Peter said, and stomped out of the apartment. Nathan watched him go, and stared at the door he slammed behind him for a while. Peter never understood certain things. It wasn't as if Nathan took any sort of enjoyment in killing. But sometimes it was either them or you, and Nathan, Nathan always chose himself.

When Peter finally returned, hours later, Nathan just shook his head and went to the bedroom, refused to speak a word until the next morning, when he snapped and said, "You seem to live in some sort of fantasy world, Peter, where everything you believe is somehow true, and reality never gets in the way."

"I don't -"

"Just do as you're fucking told for once, okay." Peter's face was blank and closed, and Nathan thought he was done, but then he spun around and said, "And if you've forgotten who saved your sorry ass when you were bleeding out all over the floor in Austin, it was me. People died that night, Peter. But you go ahead and feel self-righteous about how your own hands are clean of blood."

"Are you quite done," Peter said, and Nathan had never seen him so still. He took the gun Nathan offered him, silently, and wouldn't look up, and it wasn't as if Nathan felt bad, not exactly, he was right and Peter was wrong, but for some reason he felt, well. He wouldn't go so far as to call it guilt, Nathan Petrelli didn't put much stock in guilt, but it was an uncomfortable feeling nonetheless. Unfortunately, it also kind of made him want to go out and kill someone, right fucking now, but that was probably Peter's fault too.

The one thing he had always tried to teach Peter: you did what you had to do, and lived with whatever came next.


	3. Till it Rains Down from the Skies

Nathan never got busted for murder, which was ironic when you thought about what they specialized in.

The cop who arrested him said, "Nathan Petrelli, I've been waiting for you for a long time."

"Really," Nathan replied. "Because I have no idea who you are."

Thinking back, that wasn't the wisest move ever. But Parkman was an asshole, like all cops were assholes, and Nathan had no time for any of them.

+

In prison Nathan learnt how to meditate, how to breathe underwater for extended periods of time, how to lose at chess. He learnt the importance of a well-pressed suit. He learnt how to stay unnoticed, the one thing he'd never been good at. Mostly, he learnt how to wait.

+

The only thing he knew for certain, stepping out of the prison gates, was that Peter would be waiting for him. He hadn't changed much, the hair was shorter perhaps, and he said, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun, "You look like shit."

Nathan looked around him, wide open spaces and white sand all around, took a deep breath. "Happy Birthday, Peter."

"Two months too late, but I understand. I have a present for you."

Not how it worked, but she was tiny and blonde and Nathan wasn't complaining. "Her name's Claire," Peter said, and Claire smiled sweetly, extended a hand for him to take.

"Old enough," she said, when Nathan asked, but like most things when it came to Claire, it was a lie.

"I got a new place, Nathan. Two bedroom, you'll love it," Peter called out from the front seat, as Claire went down on him in the back.

He pulled her up into his lap though, said, "Come on baby, come here," because she was soft and curved and she didn't smell like generic soap. He thumbed her breast as she moaned and tightened her thighs around him, buried his face in her soft blonde hair.

+

Peter sent him postcards while he was inside, bland, polite notes that revealed nothing except that he was still in Boston, still shacked up with Caitlin the waitress. Nathan never asked if the relationship was one of convenience or not, but the apartment Peter lived in now was devoid of any female presence whatsoever, and Nathan decided he wasn't going to ask.

He took the bedroom that wasn't Peter's, and tried to get used to the idea of no-one telling him what to do, every second of every day. Eventually he slept.

+

The next afternoon, Nathan wandered out, and Peter was sitting at the kitchen counter cutting lines. He briefly wondered when Peter had graduated from occasional pill-popping to snorting coke, he'd always been particular about this sort of thing, but he'd changed inside too, without Peter to guide him through, so maybe Peter coped in his own way. Nathan went up, wrapped his palm around the back of his neck, and Peter tilted his head back at him, pupils burnt wide. "There's a guy. Bishop. Needs a state witness taken care of. Says he'll pay us double. He wasn't going to call, but he heard you got out. I told him maybe, if you're ready."

"That might work," Nathan said. He traced a scar on Peter's cheek that hadn't been there a year ago, and Peter shuddered, turned his face into Nathan's palm. Nathan took his hand away, but hauled Peter up to him with his other arm, wrapped around Peter's neck.

"I missed you," Peter said. "I missed you."

"Yeah, I know."

+

It wasn't just that things went bad. It's that they went spectacularly bad.

+

Bishop's girl, Elle something, was hovering quietly, and at some point she said, "You shouldn't have brought him back. If he's hurt he's a risk."

Nathan didn't say a word until he had his gun pointed at her temple. "Talk about my brother again, one word. And I will end you and everyone you have ever loved." She believed him, because it was true.

In the end, Nathan was certain, Peter didn't die just because Nathan willed it so. He couldn't remember the last time he slept, or when it was that his life didn't revolve around making sure Peter made it through. In a way, it was just like old times, except more pressing. Nathan's whole life often seemed to be making sure that no harm befell Peter. "You'll be fine, I swear," he said, when Peter moaned, and the bullet that ripped though him was something that Nathan had physically felt, from ten feet away. They'd been given instructions, only the witness, but it was self-defense as far as Nathan was concerned. He'd kill them all again, no questions.

"Well, at least the girl's dead," Elle said, and Nathan couldn't confess to even remotely liking her, and it had nothing to do with her insisting at first that they left Peter behind to die: you took care of your own, and Nathan never expected anyone else to take care of Peter. There was something about her though. Something vaguely _off_, that made Nathan's spine curl.

"Stay the fuck away from me," was about the only thing Nathan wanted to tell her, and Elle nodded her head curtly at that, and left them alone.

+

The rules didn't change: lay low, stay frosty, wait for the heat to lose interest. Dead US Marshalls meant that might take a while. Nathan booby-trapped the door of the bedroom they were in, only came out for essentials. Peter steadily improved, and at some point Nathan knew he wasn't going to die. He laid his hand, once, on Nathan's chest, slid his fingers under his shirt collar, hot on Nathan's skin. "Did my heart stop," he asked. "I felt as if my heart stopped. As if I'd died. I saw Dad."

"Your heart didn't stop, Pete. I was there. Fuck Dad." Words he repeated for Peter's sake. Dad always loved _him_, but Nathan chose Peter, and if sometimes Peter wasn't certain of it, Nathan wanted to remind him.

Peter smiled then, and kissed him. Mouth open and hot and wet, not a brotherly kiss at all. Not like they were brothers at all. Nathan shuddered, said, "Pete, wait," but he didn't really make any effort to stop. Shock, perhaps. Need, perhaps. Need overriding uncertainty, overriding fear, overriding _thought_, period. Peter's body still felt faintly feverish when he pulled Nathan down on top of him, but he was surprisingly strong and Nathan had to laugh when he started tugging on their clothes. His fingers were clumsy but Peter's were sure, unbuttoning Nathan's shirt and patiently slipping off his pants. Peter seemed exhausted though, once they were naked, and their bodies were hot against each other's. His face pale and drawn, hands loose on Nathan's shoulders, and Nathan hugged him then, said, "It's okay, Pete. We don't have to do anything."

"Oh god, fuck that. You have no idea, Nathan." His hand was around Nathan's cock now, and Nathan arched into it despite himself. "When you were inside," Peter said, soft and insistent, "I thought about nothing but who was doing this to you. Figured there'd be someone, I know how it gets. Even when I was with Caitlin, it was always you."

Nathan moaned, said, "Peter. Fuck, Peter," and buried his face in Peter's neck, jerked desperately into his fist until he came. Afterwards, he lifted his head to ask if Peter wanted any kind of reciprocation, but Peter was passed out, breathing shallow and even, lashes dark against his cheek.

Nathan kissed him on the jaw and pulled away. Cleaned up and tugged on a pair of jeans, went to get something to drink. Outside, Elle was leaning against the kitchen counter, one hand in her coat pocket and the other holding a cigarette, lit but seemingly untouched. "Long wait," she said, and jerked her head in the direction of the fridge. "I bought new beer." Nathan still wanted her dead, but perhaps not tonight.


	4. And Our Hero Must Face the Minotaur Before He Escapes the Maze

If Nathan were to write a happy ending for Peter, it would probably involve a short stay in a mental institution followed by a lifetime of therapy and pills to keep him blissfully ignorant of the world around him. Failing, or refusing, to take the easy way out, the scripts he writes involve Peter playing the desperate romantic to the not-so sweet and innocent girl as a peripheral arc while the main plot deals with a gentleman of shady moral character in search of just about anything to relieve himself of the mundane drudgery of his life.

Bottom line is: there's a little adventure, a few (many) lies here and there, some romance, and everyone goes away with just about everything they could ask for. They're not in the business of making people miserable, they just help them part with money they didn't need in the first place. Nathan likes to think of it as a service that they provide sometimes, an adrenaline rush and fun times to be had all around in exchange for a minor fee.

Peter, of course, would disagree.

"You see," Peter tells the girl now, a sweet thing all of twenty-five, blond and blue-eyed and gazing at him with rapt attention. "This is all a scam, and you cannot save me. That," and he raises his glass in Nathan's direction, "that is my brother's job."

Nathan leans over the table and tugs on his brother's tie, vintage brocade and chosen specifically to highlight the color of Peter's eyes. "I could always re-write the ending, if that's what you'd like." Peter only takes a sip of his drink, and when Nathan lets him go he pulls the girl into a kiss.

+

"Let me guess," Niki says, one of her long, long legs suddenly draping itself over him, the rest of her following as she settles down in his lap. "You're the brother that I'm not supposed to like, and Peter's the sweet sensitive one that I will remember fondly from our one night of passion even as you both take my money; money which I may or may not notice is gone, depending on what day of the week it is. But I have so much of it in the long run I'll hardly miss it, yes?"

"Well." Nathan tries his best trust-me smile on her, but she only rolls her eyes dramatically and grabs on to the lapels of his suit with her gloved hands. Her thighs are remarkably strong and when she squeezes them around him he feels, faintly, as if something just might pop.

"The brothers Petrelli," she says. "You're not that good, and you can't hustle a hustler, Nathan."

"Of course you can," Nathan replies easily. "It's just more difficult. Besides, you called me, Niki, remember? So while this illusion of foreplay we've got going here has been fun, I really must be leaving."

Niki smiles, shark-bright, and her wandering fingers slip under his shirt. "Who says the foreplay's an illusion."

+

Nathan watches as the golf ball arches gracefully in the air for a brief, shining moment, before landing with a silent plop in the water. Niki smiles, unconcerned, and readies another swing. Nathan feels that it's perhaps her five inch heels that's preventing all her shots from landing anywhere that's not the Olympic-sized pool in the backyard of her very big, very white mansion. But then again if you're going to golf from the second-story extended balcony of your home, perhaps that's precisely where you're aiming at, so he sits back into his deck chair and lets it slide.

"So what I really want," she says finally, slipping her sunglasses back over her eyes and handing her club back to the help who vanishes as fast and as silently as he appeared, "what I really want, first and foremost, is my husband out of prison."

Nathan crosses his legs and picks at imaginary lint on his pants, replies carefully, "We're hardly specialists in that field. Try the Nakamura family. I'm told the son is back in town."

"Ah, but see. That's not who I need. My husband can disappear from prison if he wants, it's more or less his thing. He only has problems with transportation, sometimes." She eyes Nathan speculatively, but chooses to stride up to Peter instead, who until then had declined to sit down and instead stood in front of a pillar with his legs slightly apart and his arms crossed. "We need confidence men, Peter," she says, and her perfectly manicured nails slide down Peter's arm as he watches her impassively. "Someone has taken something very precious from us. His name's Linderman. I believe the two of you know him well. You were his protégés, yes?"

"Emphasis on were," Peter says quietly, but his head's snapped up at the name. Peter wears every emotion on his face, and that's why he's so good at whatever Nathan asks him to do. "And Nathan's who you're looking for. I'm just the brother that's along for the ride."

+

"You sell yourself short," Nathan says afterwards, smoothing away imaginary lines from Peter's forehead with his thumb.

"I know." He frowns, his face sharp and dark and quietly furious.

"Whatever it takes, Pete." He pulls his brother into a hug and whispers into his ear, "It's long overdue." Nathan once stabbed Linderman in the side of his neck with an antique letter opener. Unfortunately, it didn't take, but Nathan's always believed in second chances.

"Okay," Peter says, but he's stiff and unyielding in Nathan's arms. This was the plan, all along, with Niki and her husband and their kidnapped item as the only way in. His plan, for Peter, if only he'd keep it together long enough. "I trust you, Nathan."

"I know," Nathan replies, and thinks about, perhaps, writing the perfect ending to their story. Any ending at all.


	5. As Far and as Fast as You Can

Afterwards, Arthur drew Nathan out for a drink on the balcony, put his hand on Nathan's shoulder and told him, in calm, gruff tones, that if Peter was working with the Feds, then he was a liability and needed to be taken care of.

Nathan had been given these orders often enough, executed them often enough, very rarely questioned them. Except that this was Peter. He knew better than to say _but he's your son_, so instead he just commented mildly, "Perhaps Peter can still be persuaded to come in."

But Arthur only gave a slight snort, and turned away to look down at the ocean. "It's a beautiful evening, don't you think."

"Sure."

"Handle it, Nathan."

+

Sometimes, Nathan thought that he chose Arthur over Peter because Peter would always forgive him, and Arthur wasn't one for second chances. Nathan's particular indiscretion was the one exception to his rule, and Arthur only had to mention "that Meredith thing" once or twice before Nathan got the message. He still kept tabs on his daughter though, and sent her mother money. Convinced himself that Arthur would never find out.

+

Truthfully, it would probably have been for the best if Arthur had stayed dead.

Peter was willing enough to help out with the business so long as Nathan kept him out of the uglier side of it. He brokered the deal with the Colombians, found a way to keep the supply constantly flowing and everyone more or less happy. Surprising, because the last time, they'd gotten drawn into a territorial war that Nathan had almost lost - although the upshot of it was that Sylar was dead, giving Nathan control over everything. At some point, he got used to having his brother by his side.

All that changed when Arthur came back. "Son," Arthur said, and hugged him tight, exactly the same way he'd done right before the night he'd supposedly died. Over his shoulder, Nathan saw Peter turn pale.

+

There was a shipment coming in. Heidi was sitting cross-legged on the bed, drawing up maps and frowning intently at the laptop screen. "We need a replacement for the Herrera family," she said.

"So find one," Nathan snapped back, not really paying attention.

"I can," and everything else she said was lost to him until he heard Peter's name.

"What about Peter?"

"I need to know if we can take care of the problem." Heidi's eyes were startlingly blue, and carefully accessing. Nathan never forgot the reason why he'd married her, knew she'd never let him down so long as he was on the winning side. He wondered how much of his father's woman she was, how much information traveled back and forth between them. Racking up his weaknesses against a wall, deciding what would be tolerated and what wouldn't. His fondness for young blond women: tolerable, even encouraged, so long as he didn't get too attached and they could be made to disappear. His fondness for his stubborn, contrary brother: not quite yet put to the test. Until now.

"Nathan?" Heidi asked again, and Nathan drew in a deep breath, shook.

"I'll take care of it," he said. "Don't worry about it."

+

Long ago he'd realized Peter was the child that his mother had been allowed to keep, and subsequently became the one his father chose to ignore. Nathan learnt the business and Peter got sent to boarding school and was otherwise left to his own devices, a Petrelli by name only. When he turned thirteen he stopped being the sweet, shy kid Nathan only ever saw when he came home for the summer and started mouthing off, angrily, about being the son of a drug kingpin.

Only to Nathan, thankfully, after Nathan explained to him clearly and concisely what he was and wasn't allowed to speak about. Peter always trusted him, even if Nathan never quite knew what he'd done to deserve that relentless devotion.

After a while, he'd only taken it for granted.

+

The order was carried out on a Tuesday night. Nathan personally oversaw everything, made certain everyone knew that Peter was not to be harmed. He didn't anticipate that Peter would escape. Three dead Feds and a woman that must have been the girlfriend, and somehow Peter managed to kill two of the crew and jump out of a three story window, unscathed. Arthur raged, hurled a glass onto the floor while Nathan stared impassively. "I tried," was all he said, "Guess he's more your son than you thought."

"You," Arthur said, and his smile was twisted and grim. "Don't think I'm unaware, Nathan. You gave explicit orders that countermanded mine. When I asked you to take care of him, it wasn't a multiple option request."

"Doesn't matter at this point, does it," Nathan replied. "He's long gone."

+

Nathan had always figured Arthur as untouchable, but somehow, Peter found a way.

The replacement Heidi found for the Herrera family was a woman named Hanson, who promised them foolproof delivery, twice a week. Nathan said, "Nothing is foolproof," but Hanson only smiled flatly and crossed her arms.

"The shipment's been held up how long already? Two, three weeks? You're bleeding money, Mr. Petrelli. How many keys stuck in Colombia, just quietly rotting? How long can you afford not to have your supply."

In the end, he left it up to Arthur, objected quietly but deliberately, based on a hunch and instant dislike alone. But Hanson was right about one thing: they were bleeding money. And when you bled money you bled power, and the way it worked was, any vacuum was just waiting to be filled by someone else.

+

Nathan had his gun in his hand, shooting anything that came at him, helpless and lost until the familiar head came into view, and then he had a focus for his rage. Peter ducked and ran and Nathan chased, until the warehouse started filling up with smoke and he couldn't stop coughing. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the butt of Peter's gun, headed towards his head.

+

He'd raged for a while, once he woke up and found out they were in the middle of the fucking ocean. "Where the fuck do you think you're taking me," he said then. "Peter."

Peter just calmly continued to steer the boat. "Somewhere with no extradition. I made arrangements, part of my deal with the DEA. They mostly wanted Arthur in any case. You can start over. Nathan Petrelli always lands on his feet, I have no doubts."

"Son of a bitch," Nathan said, and felt at his head for the first time. It came away wet and sticky.

"Sorry about that." Peter glanced at him without much care. "Head wound, it'll bleed for a while. You might have a concussion though. Maybe you should go back down below, take a rest."

"Fuck you."

"Keep swearing at me, Nathan. That will help."

"How long?"

"Since before Dad's triumphant return from the dead." Peter's voice was flat, unconcerned. "The DEA always suspected he was still alive. I knew it."

"He's your father."

"He ordered my execution." Nathan had no answer for that. The sun was rising, far away over the water, and eventually he just found a place to sit and tried not to throw up.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter headings (and vague inspiration) taken, respectively, from Plata Quemada/Burnt Money, Leverage, The Boondock Saints, The Brothers Bloom, and that Miami Vice movie with Colin Farrell.


End file.
